The Happy Hour Choir (12 page)

“Do I need to put red lace on them instead?” I said just loud enough for him to hear me.

“You,” he said, pointing a finger at me. “You are incorrigible.”

“Shush!” I held a finger to his lips.

A tall, lanky man unloading watermelons sang lightly,
“There's a land that is fairer than day. . . .”

I stepped closer to the deep, deep voice. His rich bass voice sounded too world-weary to belong to such a young man. He couldn't be much over twenty.

When he hit the chorus, I jumped in. His head snapped up, but he quickly switched from the call to the response. By the time we reached the end of the chorus, people had started to gather behind Luke.

We looked at each other, and harmonized,
“We shall meet on that beautiful shore.”

Four or five people stood around the periphery of the little produce section, including Miss Lottie and Miss Georgette. Miss Lottie crossed her arms over her chest with a “Hmph,” but Miss Georgette started to clap.

“That was absolutely wonderful,” she said as her flabby underarms flopped double time. “I had no idea you could sing like that, Beulah. I knew all about the piano playing, but I had no idea you could sing, too. And who is this young man you are singing with? I don't know that I recognize him—”

“Have you ever tried clementines, Miss Georgette?”

I didn't have to turn to see Luke was distracting her for me. And she jumped on the bait like a pond-fed catfish who'd never met a worm. While they chatted up citrus, I extended a hand to the tall farmer. He stood Green Giant tall with sandy blond hair and a plethora of freckles. His blush couldn't hide how his fair skin had repeatedly burned in the hot sun, making him an honest-to-goodness redneck.

“Hi, I'm Beulah Land,” I finally said.

He cleared his throat. “Sam Ford.”

I gauged his accent. Like Luke, he didn't hang on his r's quite like us West Tennesseans. There was something different, but still Southern. “Where you from, Sam?”

“Just moved up from south Georgia to help my uncle out on the farm,” he said as he pointed to some of the biggest, prettiest watermelons I'd ever seen.

“So, you're going to be here for a while?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Luke hesitate in the middle of his conversation with Miss Georgette. From the set of his lips, I would have almost said he was . . . jealous? A tingle began at my toes and worked its way up.

Sam Ford grinned to show a slight overbite. “I may stay on forever. Uncle Dancy has a huge spread, but he and Aunt Nona never had any kids. He said he might very well leave the farm to me if I'd help him keep it running.”

Dancy and Nona Rockwell were good people, and I already liked this Sam guy, too. “As it happens, I need someone to sing bass in my choir out at County Line Methodist. Think you might be interested?”

His face paled and he ran a hand over his head absently as though searching for a ball cap he'd left in his truck. “I don't know. Never been much on church.”

“Funny you should mention that,” I said with my most persuasive grin. “I never have been, either. Why don't you come out to The Fountain to try it out? I'll buy you a beer.”

That rendered him speechless.

I left him slack-jawed in the middle of the produce section trying to put together all of the incongruent puzzle pieces I'd handed him.

As we wheeled to the checkout, Luke leaned over to whisper in my ear. “It's not nice to use your feminine wiles on hapless young men, you know.”

“I did not use my feminine wiles!” I sputtered. “I smiled and offered to buy him a beer! That's all. I showed
you
my melons.”

He stared fiery holes through me until I blushed.

“Is there a particular reason you might be concerned about my feminine wiles, Mr. Preacher Man?”

“I don't play games, and I'm not having this discussion in the grocery store.”

“Then where and when are we going to have it?”
Because I want to talk about our kiss. And I don't want an audience.

“My place. After Bible study.”

His answer, so quick and fierce, took me aback. But I'd never really been one to back down. “Done.”

Chapter 14

W
hen I walked into The Fountain that night, Bill grabbed me into a bear hug. “Where you been? You okay? I thought I told you never to go out there by yourself.”

“Bill, I'm fine except for the fact that you're squeezing me too hard.”

He let go. “Sorry. We've all been so worried about you. And it's been so quiet around here. Ol' Pete and Greg played a little ‘Heart and Soul,' but there's really only so many times you want to go through that.”

“I've only been gone for two days!”

Tiffany burst through the door, singing along to Taylor Swift in her headphones. I grinned at Bill. “No chance of it being quiet for long. She's been on a tear ever since she got over her morning sickness.”

“Tell me about it,” Bill said. He grabbed hold of his suspenders and sighed. “But we're losing her, did you hear?”

“No, she hasn't said word one to me about it.” Which was odd because there wasn't a whole heckuva lot she hadn't commented on as of late.

“Kari down at the flower shop—heck, she's your cousin, isn't she? She hired Tiffany. Said she could use a driver.”

Kari Vandiver and I didn't speak anymore, but I flirted with the idea of rescinding my promise never to set foot in her establishment to thank her for taking a chance on Tiffany. Then I decided a thank-you note would suffice. I tried to imagine a pregnant Tiffany hauling flowers around. Surely flowers wouldn't be too heavy for a pregnant woman.

“Said she'd teach her about flower arranging, too.” Bill reached over to the narrow wall shelf where he'd set his beer.

“Does Kari know she's pregnant?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Tiffany told her that, first thing. Said she didn't want to misrepresent herself.”

I looked at my feet. I had told Tiffany to lie. Well, to omit the truth. I wanted to be mad at her for both being right and for making me feel like a heel. Instead I was proud of her for listening to Ginger instead of me and for being true to herself.

“That's really great. If you see Kari before I do, tell her I said thanks.”

He frowned and shook his head as if to say he would never understand the complexities of women. “Yep. Sure will.”

“Thanks,” I said, ignoring how he was muttering, “She's
your
cousin” under his breath. There was more to the story than Bill knew, and that's the way I wanted it.

Sam Ford chose that moment to duck inside the door, a welcome distraction if I'd ever seen one. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on me, and he grinned. Maybe I had led him on. A little.

“Sam! I'm so glad you could make it.” I put my arm in Bill's and dragged him a few feet forward to meet our newest member. “This is Sam Ford, our new bass. Sam, this is Bill. He runs The Fountain.”

The two men shook hands and sized each other up. For a minute I thought they might circle each other and sniff their respective behinds like a couple of coonhounds, but they blessedly stood still.

“I promised this man a beer. Could you get him one while I warm up? Go ahead and put it on my tab, if you don't mind.”

“Why, sure, I can do that,” Bill said. “Come on over here and see what we've got,” he added to Sam.

I left the two men to bond over beer and climbed the risers to get ready for choir practice. By the time I'd settled into the piano seat and found a hymnal, Bill and Sam were laughing in a corner. Sam's voice was so low I couldn't make out what he was saying, but I thought I caught a snippet of “A priest and a take-your-pick enter a bar” type joke. Yep, Sam Ford was going to fit in just fine.

And, as it turned out, Sam could sing circles around Carl Davis—probably because his vocal cords hadn't suffered from thousands of cigarettes and who knew what else. Even better, twice I caught him sneaking a glance at Tiffany then looking back to me as though reminding himself he was here to see me, not the buxom soprano with the ethereal voice.

After practice, Luke wandered in to set up his materials. He refused to let his eyes meet mine. I caught Sam's arm before he could wander off. “So, do you think you'd like to join the Happy Hour Choir?”

Sam looked at me then looked at Luke and back to me again. “You only wanted me for the choir, didn't you?”

I blushed to the roots of my red hair. I liked his honesty, and I could stand to learn more on the subject myself. “Yeah. You really do sing well.”

He nodded twice to the affirmative, although his brain was still working through my question. Then he fixed me with a stare that said he wasn't ready to give up on me quite yet. “I reckon I like to sing, and I need to meet some new people, so I'll do it. Aunt Nona'll be glad to see me going to church again, anyway.”

I exhaled with a whoosh of breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

I gave him a quick squeeze and jumped on the riser to grab my purse. I gently laid my song suggestions on Luke's Bible study notes while he was in the corner talking with Bill.

“Hey, where are you going?” Sam asked.

“Oh,” I said. “This is the Bible study portion of the evening. I usually don't stay for that.”

“Why not?”

What to tell him, what to tell him. Should I tell him I wasn't too friendly with God? That I was only playing the piano as a favor to a little old lady riddled with cancer? That I didn't think I could sit still while I waited for Luke to finish whatever he was going to do so we could finally have a much-needed heart-to-heart? I decided on something simple and true. “I really need to check on my . . . Ginger.”

“Don't you want to show me the ropes here?” he said with a wide smile.

I felt Luke's glare and looked in his direction before I could stop myself. His beer was suspended in midair again. If Luke didn't want me to stay and sit next to Sam, then maybe that was the very thing I ought to do. “You know what? I think I might. Here, let's sit down next to Tiffany.”

What was wrong with me? What was I doing in Bible study? And why was I leading on one man in the hopes of making another jealous? I had already learned that the only person I could truly count on was myself. And Ginger. And maybe Luke. And most likely Tiffany. Okay, so there were a few people I could trust—that didn't mean I was ready to include God in that exclusive little group.

Each member of the Happy Hour Choir was there as well as Goat Cheese, who was no doubt gathering intel. I smiled and nodded through Bible study, thinking of anything else but what was going on. For one, there was a crack on the wall beyond the piano—that would need to be fixed before it got cold. I'd forgotten to fill some of Ginger's prescriptions, but I could do that the next day. And then there was the hint of hair at the collar of Luke's shirt and how he rolled up his sleeves like a benevolent politician on the campaign trail.

As everyone concluded a spirited discussion about jealousy, Saul, and several other things I didn't care about, Luke pulled out his phone and frowned down at the number, placing it on the table beside him. When it was time to pray, I bowed my head with everyone else then waited a few sentences before I looked up to watch Luke pray.

I had watched him many times before, but I had only seen the back of his head, the perfectly squared line of his hair where the barber had shaven the locks with precision. Looking at his face, though, was revelatory. He didn't furrow his brow or squint his eyes as some preachers did. He didn't keep his eyes open and consult a list of requests like others. No, he bowed his head slightly, his face perfectly serene as his ridiculously long and dark eyelashes hardly fluttered. No smile, only a calm I envied.

“Amen.”

“Hey, Beulah, Sam's going to take me home,” Tiffany said.

Sam nodded to me, and I saw purpose. He figured if I could use him to make Luke jealous, he could use Tiffany to make me jealous. I shot him a return look that hopefully said, “This ain't
All My Children,
and you had best not hurt my friend.”

He frowned, but who knew if he could read my mind. I wasn't going to count on it. I did, however, curse under my breath as Tiffany locked arms with him and looked up with blatant admiration.

“Stick around for me, if you will.” I turned to see Luke walking toward the door with his cell phone at his ear. As if I was going anywhere. Instead, I sat and fiddled with my purse strap while I watched everyone else file out.

“Yo, Beulah, can you lock 'er up for me?” Bill pulled out his suspenders and let them fly back at his belly with a satisfying slap.

“I'll do it for a Stella,” I said.

He waved away my request as he waddled to the door. “Take two if you need to. Marsha hates it when I'm not back in time to watch her shows with her.”

I grinned at him and walked back to the bar to get a beer. When I saw Luke put his phone in his pocket and reach for the door, I took out a Heineken for him. He took two steps in, his face serious.

“What's wrong, Preacher Man? Looks like you can use one of these.” I slid the Heineken his way.

“Nothing's wrong.” He took a swig and put the bottle back down with a frown. Then his eyes brightened. “Something good for you, maybe.”

“Oh?” I put the bottle to my lips and drank.

He frowned. “You're never going to believe who just called.”

“Clem Kadiddlehopper.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.” Living with an old lady meant your pop culture references were often outdated.

“Remember that day in the cemetery when I had something to tell you? I forgot all about it, thanks to the trip to the hospital, but Tom Dartmouth told me he has a nephew who's interning as a talent scout for a little Christian label in Nashville. He wants his nephew to hear your choir.”

That sucked the air right out of me. A
talent scout?
As in a record company? As in a golden ticket out of Ellery? I grabbed Luke and hugged him before I even registered what I was doing. “I can't believe it!”

My heart pounded. I was already thinking of studios and limos and crowds full of people. Wouldn't that show everyone? For once in my life I had the chance to be
someone
. Well, my Happy Hour Choir and I had the chance to be a bunch of someones.

Luke put a hand on my shoulder, effectively dissolving my daydreams. “Look, this is only one meeting with an intern. Please tell me you're not going to get your hopes up.”

“No,
Ginger,
I'm not going to do anything as silly as that. When is he coming?”

“Next week. After Sinners to Saints. I told him you sounded great live, but Tom has Sunday appointments and can only come on a Wednesday.”

“I can't believe it. Nothing like this ever happens to folks around here. I've got to go call Ginger.”

I was already taking my cell out of my pocket when Luke grabbed my arm. “Beulah, about our kiss—”

“What about our kiss?” My pulse was officially out of control.

“I'm hoping you don't think I was out of line.”

“Out of line? Are you crazy?”

“The more I thought about it, the more I thought—”

I put a finger to his lips to silence him. “Preacher Man, you think entirely too much.”

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” he murmured as he took a step closer. My body leaned forward without consulting my brain. All of a sudden, oxygen was in short supply. The Fountain's silence shouted. My heart beat a million times a minute, reminding me of a day almost ten years ago when I'd breathlessly waited for a kiss in a hand-me-down ragtop, the last time I'd breathlessly waited for anything.

His lips glanced mine, and I almost blacked out before they made another gentle, grazing pass. He hesitated for a second then kissed me full-on, a hungry kiss that left us both clinging to each other as tightly as we could. One of his hands knotted in my hair and the other palmed the small of my back to pull me closer. My hand traced his spine as I stood on tiptoe to reach him while my fingers flicked through his precisely cut hair.

And this is why people have sex,
I thought, as he set me up on the counter and leaned into me. It was beyond a need to procreate. No, we each needed to be needed, a need interrupted by the slam of the screen door.

We broke apart to see Mac frozen just inside the door. His eyes immediately shifted to the floor. “Forgot my wallet,” he muttered.

Leaning over by his chair with a grunt, he raised his trophy high with a cheery “Found it!” and beat the hastiest retreat I'd ever seen.

The spell broken, Luke rested his forehead on mine. “This is not a good idea.”

Forget picking out curtains, I didn't even merit a third kiss.

“You're right,” I said, leaping from the counter. “Because I'm me, and you're you. You could lose your job over this.”

“You have no idea,” he muttered, jamming his hands into his pockets.

I took a step back, willing any tears I had to stay unshed. “I mean, this relationship, or whatever it is, could never go anywhere. Obviously, we were just caught up in the moment.”

“Yes. I mean, no.”

“I agree.” I wrenched The Fountain key off my ring and tossed it at him. “Lock up when you're done, you hear?”

He grabbed my wrist instead. “I meant we weren't just caught up in the moment. At least I wasn't.”

He stared down at me looking for something, some sign he could kiss me again.

My pride still stung. “Well, maybe I was.”